Living in the Shadows (5 page)

‘Richard, lad, thank the lord you’re here.’ Ted Booth flung his arm around Richard’s shoulders and ushered him into the house. ‘We were that worried. William’s gone out to look for you again. He feels that bad he was a bit late meeting the train and then he couldn’t find you. We decided you must be making your own way here – but that’s hours ago. Where’ve you been, lad?’ In the light of the hall he studied Richard. ‘And what the heck happened to you? You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.’

‘Been in a spot of bother, Uncle.’ Richard tried a smile but his mouth felt stiff, immovable. Now it was over, now he was on familiar ground, he was angry with himself for being so scared. For running. Even if common sense told him it was the only thing he could have done if he didn’t want a beating.

‘Looks like it an’ all. Come on, come into the living-room, I’ll put the fire on. Let’s get your coat off, you can tell me all about it.’

‘Uncle, this is Karen.’ Richard held his hand out to the girl who was hovering on the doorstep. ‘She helped me.’

‘Oh? Well, any friend of Richard … an’ all that.’ Ted glanced uncertainly at Karen. ‘Come in.’

Ted helped him with his parka. In the bright light they could see it was ripped and dirty. ‘You’re in a right mess. You hurt? We could do with our Linda here to see to you but you’ve just missed her – she’s on nights.’

‘I’m okay – I’m not hurt, Uncle. But I lost my rucksack.’

‘Never mind that. So long as you’re okay, we can sort that out later.’ Ted fiddled with the switch on the gas-fire until flames flared. ‘New fire,’ he said, with a proud smile, ‘called a
Flavel Debonair
. Had it put in last month, ready for the winter. Your Auntie Ellen wanted it.’ He cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. ‘She’s in bed … bit of a headache today. Sorry, rabbiting on a bit. I’ll make a brew.’ In the kitchen he raised his voice above the sound of the water gushing into the kettle. ‘She’ll probably stay there tonight, but she’s looking forward to seeing you and getting all the news from Wales. Now then…’ Ted came to stand by the door. ‘What happened?’

‘He was attacked by a gang of louts. Rockers.’ Karen spoke for the first time. ‘I saw them chasing him in Bradlow and picked him up.’

‘She saved me from a hammering.’ For a moment Richard recalled the rush of gratitude when he’d tumbled into the car.

‘So, you didn’t know one another before?’

‘No.’

‘Well, that was really good of you, Karen, some folk wouldn’t have stopped.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She was blushing.

Duw
, makes her look even prettier, Richard thought.

‘Well, I do,’ Ted said. The kettle switched off with a loud click. ‘There’s some rough parts in Bradlow. And some rough folk. You were lucky, our Richard.’ He went back into the kitchen. ‘I’ll make that brew.’

‘I know how lucky I was.’ Richard grinned at Karen. ‘In more ways than one.’

Colour rose from her throat to her cheeks. ‘Actually…’ she felt in her jacket pocket, brought out her car-keys. ‘I’d better be off.’

Richard felt a twinge of disappointment; she’d obviously done her bit for a fool who’d got himself into trouble and now couldn’t wait to go. Just his luck – he really fancied her.

She must have seen the fleeting disappointment in his eyes. ‘Like I said … my stepfather … he’ll be wondering where I am. Remember?’ she touched his arm. ‘I should have been meeting him at the hospital to go and visit Mum?’

‘Oh yeah. Will he be all right about it?’ Richard remembered what she’d said about her stepfather being a bully. It troubled him. ‘Tell him what happened. What you did. How you helped me.’

‘No.’ A short silence. And then: ‘No, he wouldn’t understand.’ She half-smiled, just one corner of her lips lifting. ‘You know? Picking up a stranger. He’d be bound to have a go at me for that.’ She tossed her hair back. ‘Not that it’s anything to do with him.’ Her words didn’t hide her nervousness.

‘But you’ll be okay? I could come with you to tell him what happened?’

‘No.’ She spoke sharply. Then her voice softened. ‘No, I’ll be fine. Honest.’ The way she jangled the keys in her hand showed her impatience to leave.

‘Right. Well, thanks again, then. See you around?’

‘I’d like that,’ she said. ‘Look, I know you’re only here for an interview … that you don’t live here. But I would like to see you again. I’m free Friday night?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh.’ Richard grinned. He didn’t think he’d ever smiled this much. ‘
Gwych
… great. And you never know, if I
do
get a place I’ll be up here all the time. Well, in Manchester, anyway. I didn’t ask you where you lived.’

‘Not far. Just outside Bradlow. Little village called Mossbridge.’

‘Okay.’

‘Have you a pen?’

Richard looked around. ‘I don’t…’

‘There’s one there, by the newspaper. And a pencil.’ She wrote on the top margin of the crossword. ‘This is the number you can get me on. Give me a ring.’

‘I will.’

‘Between four and five in the afternoon’s best. I’ll be home from college then.’

‘Okay.’ He walked with her to the front door. ‘Still raining,’ he said, ‘so be careful driving home.’

‘I’ll be fine.’ Karen stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Even in her high-heeled boots she was still smaller than him. ‘Ring me.’

‘Yeah.
Noso da.’

‘Welsh again?’

‘Yeah. Means good night.’

‘Oh.
Nos da,
then?’ Her pronunciation made him laugh. He was relieved when she joined in.

Richard watched her drive off and turn onto Shaw Street before closing the door. He touched his cheek. His fingers brushed against his hearing-aid. She hadn’t mentioned it. And she couldn’t have missed it. He smiled to himself.

Ted came out of kitchen, two mugs in his hands. ‘She gone? I thought…’

‘She had to. But I think she’ll be back sometime, Uncle, if that’s okay.’

‘Aye, fine. Now…’ Ted handed one of the mugs to Richard. ‘We must ring your mum and dad. Let them know you’re here.’

Chapter 8: Mary & Peter Schormann

Llamroth, evening: Wednesday, September 17th

‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have told Richard about Victoria?’ Mary Schormann replaced the telephone receiver but left her hand resting on it.

‘What did he say?’ Her husband touched the head of the large Alsatian dog that leaned against him, whining. ‘Quiet, Gelert.’

‘Not a lot – only for us not to worry, she’ll be back.’ Her forehead crinkled. ‘He said it had been a long day. It sounded as though he’d had a difficult journey.’ Always reluctant to speak on the telephone because of his hearing, her son had sounded even more strained than usual. ‘I hope he’s all right; it’s only a few weeks since his last operation.’

‘A small operation, Mary. And as you say, it is the last. And the university would not wait much longer; his interview has been deferred already. He is lucky they understood.’

‘Well, quite right they did!’

A thought came to her, something she didn’t want to acknowledge but knew she must; the twins had always been close. ‘You don’t think he knows … knew what she was going to do, do you, Peter?’ Would he have deceived them as well?

‘
Nein.
No. I am sure not.’ Her husband shook his head. ‘Richard is sensible, Mary—’

‘Unlike Victoria?’ She couldn’t stop the bitterness spilling out.

‘Victoria has always been the unpredictable one. We know that,
meine Liebe.’

‘She’s hard work.’ Mary frowned, having a sudden memory of her daughter’s stubborn face that morning, her expression rebellious yet somehow nervous. ‘At least now we know why she wouldn’t come with us to see Richard off.’ She looked down at the note in her hand. The message was short, written in her daughter’s large, careless handwriting. ‘What does she mean? “Need to find myself”? And this, “My spirit is crushed in this place”? “My spirit needs to fly”?’ Her anxiety once again merged with irritation. ‘All this claptrap!’

Peter Schormann took the paper and re-read it. ‘I do not know.’ An old frustrated fear churned inside him. All the years he’d protected his family as best he could, and now this. This was totally out of his control. He breathed slowly against the sudden rapid beat of his heart, forcing himself to stand still, stay strong in front of Mary. ‘I will go to the police,’ he decided. ‘They will have to do something, she is under age. I will make sure we will find her. I promise you.’

But Mary heard the bewilderment under his words and it frightened her. Throughout the years they’d been married he’d been the strong one. At first, against the contempt and hatred of people who didn’t know them, and later in his determination to regain his status and be respected for the doctor he was. Now it seemed he was as frightened as she was for their daughter.

She moved restlessly around the room, folding the flowered curtains back into tidy pleats before refastening the tasselled tieback, lifting the cushions into place on the new brown leather settee, touching the spines of the books on the shelves. She stopped to study the photographs on the wall above the bookcase.

One of them showed Richard standing at the entrance to St David’s Cathedral. What you couldn’t see, unless you knew where to look, was Victoria, in a green cardigan, hiding behind one of doors. She was sulking because she couldn’t have an ice-cream. Earlier she’d chosen to have sweets. It had been that or an ice-cream. Typical of her daughter, Mary thought resentfully, she’d wanted both in the end. So, when they were leaving, she’d refused to have her picture taken.

Her eyes shifted to the next photo. It showed the twins with her sister, Ellen, and her husband, Ted, and their children. Ellen was holding Victoria’s hand. Mary closed her eyes, an upsurge of distress making her light-headed. She’d always known her daughter took after her sister. Both strong-willed; both determined to do just what they wanted. Now Victoria had proved how right she’d been. She held her finger and thumb over her eyes. The dog plodded across to her and pushed his head against her. Absently, she stroked him.

She was grateful when Peter reached for her hand, his warm fingers wrapped around hers, his thumb stroking her palm. But even that small gesture failed, for once, to comfort her. As though he understood it, her husband pulled her gently to him, held her close.

He smelled differently these days since he’d given up smoking his pipe, but his arms around her were still strong, the curve between jawline and throat still the familiar place for her to burrow her face.

Her tears were hot on his neck.

‘Why has she done this? It makes no sense.’ She wept. ‘Where has she gone, Peter?’

‘It will be fine,
Liebling.
We will find her.’

She pulled back from him, searched his face. ‘But will it, Peter? Will we?’ Mary shivered; it felt as if ice was running through her veins. ‘She must have planned to go; she waited until this morning, until we were out. Did she catch a bus? Was she somewhere on the station when we were?’ Her voice broke. ‘Did we miss her? Has she gone off with someone? Oh, Peter, who knows where she is right now?’

Chapter 9: Victoria Schormann

Evening: Wednesday, September 17th

Victoria woke with a start. The air inside the camper van was heavy with an oily, pungent herbal scent mixed with the smell of exhaust fumes. She was crushed between the two other girls, who were deep in sleep, each resting their heads on her shoulder.

‘I feel a bit sick,’ she said.

‘Hold it together, babe, we’re nearly there.’ Seth spun the vehicle round the corner of a wide street and then wound the driver’s window down. ‘That better?’

‘Thanks.’ She took deep breaths hoping to ward off the nausea but there was no fresh air coming in, only muggy damp air. ‘How much further?’

‘Don’t you recognise anywhere, Summer?’

‘Summer?’ Victoria looked up.

‘That’s what I’ve decided you should be called from now on. Don’t you like it, babe?’ His hazel eyes locked on hers through the rear view mirror.

Did he look … sound annoyed?

Victoria didn’t know what to say. ‘Fab,’ she managed in the end, forcing an enthusiastic tone into her words. She was almost reassured when he laughed but then realised how artificial it sounded.

‘So … know where you are?’ This time his eyes smiled. But it was as though he was laughing at a joke only he understood.

The scenery had changed from when she was last awake. The winding roads – that followed the lines of hills covered in a sea of yellow gorse and purple heather that bordered rolling fields, were now angular streets of stone, terraced houses and thin sentinels of lampposts. As she gazed through the windscreen the lights flickered on, one by one, orange and red flashes through the steady drizzle. The tarmac and pavements glistened dark with rain. The colours of the doors of the houses were dull as if drained away, she thought. And as yet there were only a few windows lit to show the family life carrying on inside. Most of the houses were dark shadows.

She managed to keep the shock concealed. They were in Ashford. Why were they in Ashford?

‘Remember that time we met up here, the week after the fest? We walked along the canal and I asked you what those buildings were. You told me about the place, said it was empty … don’t you remember?’

‘I’d forgotten. But it’s derelict.’ It had been a ruin for as long as she’d been coming to Ashford with Mum and Dad. ‘I don’t understand. How did you…? You didn’t tell me you’d moved,’ she said, in the end.

‘Well, after you’d said it was empty it seemed the obvious choice, given we got kicked out of that dump in Manchester.’ He slowed the camper van down to negotiate some potholes.

Was he laughing at her? He knew she had family here. She wouldn’t be able to go into Ashford on her own.

‘Problem?’ he asked, his eyes narrowing.

‘I was just thinking I’d have to be careful going into town, in case I see someone I know.’ Where was the freedom?
Ashford
she thought, incredulous. She’d thought she’d be escaping from the lot of them.